


Bedroom Secrets Drabbles

by Ololon



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:26:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ololon/pseuds/Ololon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six Discworld drabbles, inspired by the idea that we all have strange things we do in our sleep, or secrets that only our sleeping partners know. Characters as per listing. Canon pairings except for Vetinari/Drumknott. Non-explicit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedroom Secrets Drabbles

**Author's Note:**

> Yay first posting here! And a new piece too :) I'm bad at writing short things, so I'm practising with drabbles.

**(1) Adora Belle Dearheart**

“Draw the blind through the candle then the bookworm can find his dinner.” Sometimes, thought Moist, it was like being in bed with the Bursar. He shuddered at that mental image. Adora mumbled something and turned over onto her side, her breathing becoming more regular. She hadn’t believed him when he told her she talked nonsense in her sleep. He was half-minded to get some recording imps to prove it, although he wasn’t sure being proven right would be worth the icy fury it would generate. Besides, it was kind of…fascinating. “Tumble over cockerel.” Or maybe it was just weird.

 

**(2) Carrot Ironfoundersson**

Angua pulled the pillow over her head, despairing of ever getting to sleep. Sometimes she wondered if her sensitive hearing just made it that much worse. Sometimes she wondered if growing up in the cramped confines of a dwarf mine had somehow damaged his neck. Another colossal snore rasped out of Carrot’s throat, making a noise like some almighty nail file being drawn across the big claw of Offler the Crocodile god. She’d always known he was _too _perfect. He was honest, reliable, loyal, steadily employed, handsome, and above all _good, _but sometimes she just really wanted to suffocate him.

 

**(3) William de Worde**

Sacharissa understood now why William had been…funny, about sharing a bed to start with. No doubt his _dreadful _father had given him hell about it. Not to mention all the other boys. She could just imagine. The lingering shame was clearly still there, from all those cruel boarding school nights; that vulnerability he’d never admit to (men – honestly!) Nevertheless, that obviously hadn’t stopped him _doing _it. Not that she minded. In fact, she’d never tell him so, because his pride would never suffer it, but he looked terribly sweet all curled up like that, with his thumb in his mouth.

 

**(4) Samuel Vimes**

Sybil was woken up by a familiar draft of air as the blankets cascaded to the floor, and that rhythmic _pad pad pad _of bare feet across the floor. She’d taken to locking the bedroom door, because the staff tended to get hysterical when they encountered Sam sleep-patrolling the hallways in the middle of the night, particularly when he had his truncheon. And not his clothes. The padding changed to a cardboard-soled thumping; oh dear, he’d found his boots. She smiled. He’d figure it out eventually: if he wanted to find the key, he’d have to come back to bed.

**(5) Havelock Vetinari**

Drumknott stared at the prone form of the Patrician, his mind racing with this new information. Of all the secrets Vetinari held, this was the _last _that would ever have crossed his mind. Havelock hadn’t said anything, but it was abundantly clear that this Something was _never _to be revealed to another soul. The trust involved! Drumknott’s fingers stretched involuntarily towards a pale triangle of exposed skin. To think that he’d been worried about keeping their affair secret. Now, he had this irrational fear that _this_…would somehow write itself on his forehead for everyone to see: The Patrician is _ticklish._

**(6) Death**

Everything was just right. There was a warm mug of cocoa by the bed, next to the thick book and, pleasingly, a small ginger cat curled up on the bed itself, already asleep. Death put on his pyjamas (black, patterned with little white skulls) and got in, sitting there expectantly. There was a scurrying movement by the pillows.

SQUEAK?

OH. YES. YOU ARE QUITE CORRECT. He turned out the light, leaving only the twin blue lamps of his eyes shining in the dark. Death understood that humans _needed _sleep. He just didn’t understand why they seemed to _enjoy _it so. 


End file.
